


#october17

by Chelzbuckwheat



Category: Hat Films - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Other, monster week fics, october17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-08 09:58:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelzbuckwheat/pseuds/Chelzbuckwheat
Summary: A group of works to celebrate Monster Week with the fam-dom (see what I did there??)





	1. Day 1: Ghosts

Warning: Mentions of drug use, and may trigger fear of height related sensitivities (msg me if you would like more details before reading)

 

Chapter 1: Ghost, Ghouls, and Specters

To sneak onto Harper’s Hospital property, all someone had to do was find the slit in the chain-link fence: people had been doing it ever since the hospital started to feel the burden of the economic depression. What used to be a place of healing, now was somewhere for teens to get high or explore its many halls and wings. Trott was the first to find the slit – he had been coming to the hospital ever since junior year. Trott held the flap of fence open as Ross crawled in behind him, Smith bringing up the rear. The guitarist had been quietly dragging his feet, hoping the other two would only vehemently talk about the hospital in between bites, but never leave White Castle. Ross had always wanted to come to Harper’s, but Smith wanted nothing to do with it. Sure, he was a thrill-seeker – but in ways that didn’t involve a full moon on Hallow’s eve.

Trott let the chain slap down as Smith stood and brushed the dirt of his pants. They were still a few hundred feet from the hospital – its brick was a maroon under the moonlight. Smith looked to his friends – their faces made up for the dread that weighed Smith down. Trott was the first to leave the brush near the fence. Ross looked back at Smith, and beckoned him forward with a smile. Ross turned, knowing Smith would fall into step with him.

“There’s a window on the first floor around the back that is open,” Trott announced, no longer concerned with sneakiness. The nearest road was a half mile back, and the cops had stopped doing rounds here years ago. Trott rounded the corner of the west wing, heading towards the ass end of the building. Just as Ross and Smith approached the corner, Trott reappeared. “We might have company.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a light on in the east wing.”

“Do they even run electricity here?” Smith asked, feeling his legs prickle. Ross and Trott shared a look, before looking back at Smith. “Could be a battery powered flood light,” Trott offered. “It’s fine, they’re all the way in the East Wing. Come on.” The group made their way to the back of the building. Smith peered to the lit room – it was on the third floor, almost at the end of the wing. It didn’t feel right, but Trott was already half in the closest window. Smith made himself go second – then at least he would be in the building and hopefully the urge to run would leave. He offered Ross a hand, and pulled the raven-haired man into the dark room. Trott slid the window down behind them, and tried the lock, but there was none. The room was quiet, only the sound of their boots clicking across the floor as the neared the door. There was a small window, set about eye height, and Trott peered out into the hall. “Come on my beaus, our adventure awaits.”

Trott led Ross and Smith around like a tourist guide leading a couple around France – he knew stories of past lives here, from hospital history up to recent hook-ups. Ross was all oo’s and ah’s as Trott told him stories of love and loss, Smith was too busy keeping an ear out for the patrons on the third floor. Trott had many stories of doped up people he had met here over the years, and it left Smith rattled. Harper’s Hospital was renowned for overdoses and bath salt trips. It would be hard to play tomorrow’s gig without a face.

The stories stopped when there was a loud crash down the hall. It was pitch black, but Trott flicked off his light. Ross gripped Smith’s arm tight, and Smith squeezed his arm back. Trott was completely still as the three of them pressed against the wall. Smith felt like he was vibrating out of his skin, his heart loud in his ears. He pressed his fingers into Ross’ sweatshirt sleeve, anchored by the fact he wasn’t alone. There was a light, small and round at the end of the hall. It barely lit up the area around it, diffused and weakly yellow. The light bobbed and danced around the hall, floating without destination.

“Trott…” Ross whispered, but the bassist seemed to not hear him. Smith watched as the light stopped at Ross’ voice, and it started to waft its way down the hall. As it passed by, doors closed loudly, their bangs echoing into the hall. “Trott.” The light picked up speed. Smith knew it was coming for them.

“Run.” Trott grabbed Smith and Ross as he ran past them. The sounds followed them, a cacophony the doors slamming, objects being tossed around and dragged along as if trapped underneath a truck. Trott led them around corners and through connected rooms expertly, yelling out obstacles and pulling Ross and Smith over half-gone walls.

Once they climbed up the mezzanine that overlooked the grand hallway, Smith looked back. The light was erratically bouncing down the hall towards them – it left scorch marks on the walls as it neared, and Smith could hear a far-away screaming. Smith could hear Trott crying his name.

Someone else’s voice entered his mind, sobbing and murmuring a name he didn’t know but felt connected to. Flashes of a girl, barely twenty, seizing as a needle stuck out of her arm, a bright pink rubber rand wrapped around her arm. The voice yelled and yelled again, the name of the girl echoing in his mind. Smith stood as whoever witness this girl die stand from kneeling over her motionless body.

The tugs at Smith’s hands were persistent, but he shook them off as he stood.

The person in his mind spotted the window in the room – it was open so the summer breeze could come in. Smith mimicked the steps towards the window, and looked out over the courtyard at the back of the hospital. Smith wasn’t at the end of the mezzanine, looking over the grand hall; instead he was on the third floor.

“Smith, I swear to God,” Trott yelled, pulling on the taller man’s torso. Smith blinked away the images in his mind. Trott was warm against him, but he was chilled to the bone. Smith looked down, and scrambled away from the edge of the lofted walkway. The screaming was gone, the summer breeze was gone, and Smith was crying. The orb was gone, but it didn’t stop them from running back to the room with the lockless window. It didn’t stop them from running to the hole in the fence. It didn’t stop them from running back to White Castle, only stopping as they squish together on Smith’s bench seat with the car doors locked.


	2. Day 3: Undead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this is the Undead day - but what I had in mind for the prompt evolved into this, so imma post it anyways bc #yoloswag
> 
> Warnings: Slight gore near the center of the piece, marked with a *. Nothing too graphic but just in case.

Alex Smith was standing at the front door of his old apartment. His back was cold in the Chicago breeze, but his chest felt the heat of the apartment. It was silent except for the faraway sirens. Alex opened the door.

_What do you see?_

Alex was surrounded by thick inky smoke. His throat was dry, but his cheeks were wet.

_Smith, what do you see?_

It was Tom. His eyes were clear orbs piercing through the smoke. He stood in the kitchen – his skin was on fire.

_Go back to the door. Open it._

The doorknob was hot, but Alex held onto it. He could do this part: leaving was easy. Leaving Tom behind wasn’t.

_3…2…1…sleep._

The heat was gone, the smoke was gone. Alex took a deep breath in and savored the cool air.

_When I count down to one, Alex Smith, you will be driving. You left that apartment. Tom is gone. Your favorite song is on the radio, it’s at an enjoyable volume. You have a full tank, and just ate a satisfying meal – you feel good. You are driving to your new apartment, and you are almost there. When I count down to one, Alex Smith, you will open your eyes._

_3…2…1…_

A slow acoustic guitar filled the air and Alex opened his eyes. He was sitting in his car. The air conditioner was on, blowing cool air onto him. It smelled of smoke, and Alex knew Tom’s stuff was in the backseat with his own. He was driving along a long stretch of highway, and the moon was barely a sliver in the open sky. It had been his favorite spot on the drive out of Chicago.

There was a figure in the road – his eyes pierced through the dark night beyond the headlights. Alex pushed down on the brakes, but the car didn’t slow.

_He’s already gone Smith. You’re not responsible for him anymore._

*With only feet between the car and Tom, Alex could see his skin. It was covered in blisters and boils, with oozing sores jigsawed with charred patches of hair. When the car struck Tom’s form, his mouth opened and the jarring scream of a smoke alarm filled Alex’s ears, drowning out the crescendo of his favorite song. Tom’s body exploded into smoke and washed over the car. The air conditioner was cool on Alex’s cheeks.

_You’re almost home Smith. Pull off at the next exit._

It was easier to breathe without Tom in the road, Alex realized. A green road sign popped up, and Alex knew that was his exit. He flicked on the turn signal as the song on the radio faded out.

_3…2…1…sleep._

Alex liked “sleep” – it was nothingness. It was only green light and Alex was content to float in it. It was quiet, cool, and calm. And most importantly, Tom never showed up here. He was free here. Alex never wanted to leave, but he knew Dr. Hulmes was calling his name.

_Smith, nod if you’re ready. Okay, good. When I count down to one, Alex Smith, you will be in your new apartment. Tom is outside and he wants to talk with you. You feel confident about this conversation, and any fear about confronting Tom is absent. He is your friend, and wants to make sure you’re okay. When you are done talking with Tom, count to three and we’ll talk about it. When I count down to one, Alex Smith, open your eyes._

_3…2…1…_

He needed to clean, Alex realized when he opened his eyes. There were things everywhere – laundry, trash, luggage. The air was stale and the buzz of static from the television grated against Alex’s ears. He quickly found his now-well-worn winter jacket, shrugged it on, and went outside. The static in his mind didn’t stop until he stepped outside the apartment building, and he was relieved at the quiet. Fall was on the cusp of winter, and the coolness refreshed Alex’s mind. He reached for his cigarette pack, and lit one. He couldn't find his lighter, but one was offered to him.

It was Tom’s lighter. When Alex looked up, Tom had a smile on his face – it was his real face. Alex paused, his hand almost to the lighter out of habit. His friend’s eyes were soft, his smile warm. Tom flicked the lighter and brought it to the end of Smith’s cigarette, lighting it for him.

“Wassup Alex? Lemme bum a drag?” Reflexively, Alex reached his cigarette out to Tom, too mesmerized at Tom’s unmarred face. It was young, healthy, and happy. “Come on, don’t look at me like that man.”

“Tom, I-I… I’m so sorry.” Tom took three long drags of Smith’s cigarette, exhaling the smoke out of his nose.

“Me too Alex.”

“Why are you sorry?” Tom rolled his eyes at Smith affectionately, and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. It was heavy and warm – it felt very real.

“Just cuz I’m gone doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I know you’ve been a mess.”

“Everything’s different.”

“Well duh. But that’s not your fault.”

“I took down th-“

“Because I bitched about the damn thing every day.” Tom held Alex at an arm’s length – his eyes were stern, just like all the mornings Alex would try to skip his 8AM lecture. “I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you.”

“Tom –“

“Alex, I need you to forgive yourself. You need to let it go, and go on with your life. You need to stop resisting the river.” Alex and Tom weren’t outside the apartment anymore – instead they were at the edge of the river in town. Tom and Alex stood along the river’s edge, the beachy banks wet from the water. Alex watched a leaf as it toppled over a cluster of rocks, heading towards them. Tom plucked the leaf from the water and handed it to Smith. “This is that ‘hippie bullshit wisdom about leaves’ from all those months ago. This is my gift to you.” Alex studied the orange crisp leaf in his hand. When Alex looked back to Tom, he was gone.

1…2…3…


	3. Day 4: Werewolves

“Come on Ross, I’m sure it’s fine!”

“Fuck off Smith.”

“You’re making it so much worse than it probably is.” The look Ross shot him was dark and cold; Smith didn’t let it dissuade him. “We go to a school of Exceptionalities. It’s not like you’re the only one.”

“You just indirectly called Ross not special, and just weird.”

“Trott, shut up.” Smith crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall. It was only a few hours before sundown, which meant Ross only had a few hours to hide. He always left long before the night of the full moon, and Smith’s curiosity was too much. At a school full of vamps, ghouls, and swamp-creatures, what made Ross’ lycanthropy so horrifying?

“Just drop it Smith.” His neck and ears were flushed – Ross turned away from his friends and went to his room. Smith’s trickster instinct wanted to take over, to pester and to poke until Ross gave in, but he made himself stay at the apartment door. He looked to his witch of a friend, whose hair shined brightly in the late afternoon sun. It was white – Smith knew that meant he was projecting into the room. Trott always said he received a Blessing and not a Curse, but Smith wouldn’t agree. To wear one’s intention on the sleeve spelt bad news for a siren like Smith. Even if Trott was an empath, his mood ring hair seemed bothersome.

“You know he hates it when you do that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You know what I mean,” Smith sighed as he plopped down onto the couch next to Trott. He rested his head on Trott’s lap, and it wasn’t long before Trott’s hand was in his hair. It was cool to the touch, and it helped Smith relax. He hated the week around a full moon – Ross was finnicky and didn’t play well. Trott did his best to balance the room, but it usually ended with Ross leaving until he was normal again. Smith wondered why Ross hadn’t fled yet – it was the closest he has ever cut it to full moon.

“Relax, Smith. I have a good feeling about tonight.”

“Trott don’t use your creepy mind tendrils on me.” The empath rolled his eyes, but his hair darkened to a deep brown. “I just don’t get what he’s so afraid of. You can literally tranquilize a sithe with your hair.”

“Be patient.”

The pair waited for Ross to come out of his room at dinner time, but the door stayed shut. Smith was sure that he had slipped out the window and took off into the night, but Trott reassured him that Ross was still in their apartment. Trott filled the silence over meatloaf with stories from his Auras 101 class, going over the history of aura reading and the different colors. It at least was more interesting than his Literary Review of Discord and Magick seminar.

The grandfather clock’s chimes broke through the conversation. Trott didn’t return Smith’s gaze, a blend of worry and excitement. Trott’s hair melted into a golden color, his eyes stayed on his leftover mashed potatoes. His eyebrows rose for a moment, and a wide smile cracked across his face. He laughed to himself and patted his mouth with his napkin.

“What, what happened?” Smith asked his Trott’s hair dimmed back into its dark color. Smith’s leg bounced under the table. “Trott, tell me,” he said, his voice infused with magic. It tasted wrong, an overly sweet tart instead of the honey it should be. Trott’s hair phased through red and back to its natural color quickly, dispelling Smith’s words.

“Your suggestions work was well as they taste,” Trott laughed around his hand, enjoying the scrunched face of his friend. Trott stood from the table, bringing his dishes with him. “Let’s wash up and go see how Ross is.” Knowing that Trott knew something was up, Smith didn’t fight him on it. He quickly scraped and rinsed the dishes, and he swore Trott was purposefully going slower than he usually would with loading the dishwasher.

“For an empath, you’re an asshole.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Trott clicked the buttons on the dishwasher and turned to the siren. “Let’s go.” They walked to the outside of Ross’ door, and there was no light shining from under the door. “Ross?” There was no reply. Smith knocked, impatient with waiting. Still nothing.

“Oh fuck this,” Smith said, and he twisted open the handle. It was dark in Ross’ small bedroom. It had barely any possessions in it, mostly furniture that was provided by the university. “Ross?” Smith flicked on the light and it revealed a lump on the bed. “Oh yes.”

A small, curly haired dog laid at the foot of the bed, surrounded in Ross’ clothes. It was a mutt breed, long in the face and legs, but a small dog. Its eyes were ice blue and familiar, as familiar as the dark fur. Trott stayed near the door into the room, his eyes bright with mirth. Smith sat down on Ross’ bed and looked down at the dog.

“Mate, this is amazing,” Smith said as he rubbed the dogs’ ear. It was velvety in his hand.

“He’s going to kill you the moment it turns morning.”

“Ross, roll over if it’s you.” The dog stood, his height only coming up with Smith’s sternum as the siren sat on the bed. The dog turned, flicking his tail in Smith’s face. Smith laughed as Ross sat back down on his pile of clothes. The siren had to wipe away the tears from his eyes as he laughed loudly for the bed. Ross looked over to Trott, his puppy face exasperated. The witch only smiled at him, and sat on the other side of Smith. Ross trampled over Smith, pouncing onto his crotch as he bounded towards Trott. Smith groaned in discomfort, and laid back onto Ross’ bed. Ross curled up on Trott’s lap pleased with himself and let Trott scratch behind his ears.

“We can stay with you if you want Ross. Or we can let you rest until morning.” Ross looked up at Trott, then over to Smith as he watched his two best friends. Ross licked Trott’s hand and leaned into it, then patted his paw onto Smith’s leg. Smith and Trott shared a smile, scooped Ross up into his arms like a baby, and gave him belly rubs.

“Ross, you are definitely the cutest werepup I’ve ever see.”


	4. Day 5: Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was okay until the shop across the street opened. Now Trott has to give them hell.

Trott peered out of the window of his shop. He wished this was a different dimension, where public use of powers was the norm. Then he could just ignite the “new age” coffee shop across the street on fire. Ever since they had opened, the regular patrons at the On the Ryes have jumped ship to the enemy: to Stewing Brew. What a pretentious name, huffed Trott as he kneaded his dough. He was ten loaves deep into day prep, and not a single customer had come in for the breakfast rush. Instead they lined up like traffic cones for Stewing Brew. Trott doubted their menu was much different than his. He did not leave the Underworld to get shafted in a dimension where he would end up failing in his sandwich-and-soup shop. He growled into the prep room, aggressively folding some dough into pretzels now.

“You okay Trott?” Ross asked, rubbing the flour on his hands off onto his apron. Trott didn’t look over his shoulder at his second-in-command. Ross was a devilishly good baker, to the point that Trott could have sworn Ross sold his soul. But no, it glowed a cool blue through his eyes; he was just that good with a hand-mixer. “Do you want me to run some reconnaissance?”

“No, I’m going during my lunch break. I need to know the face of my enemy.” Ross laughed, and stood shoulder to shoulder to help crank out the five batches of pretzels they had planned for the day. Dinner and later was when people came. Ross kind of enjoyed the more laid-back flow of the shop. It let him explore weird tastes in his scones and dessert croissants, and amp up the decorations on his cookies and cakes. But Ross could see the stress it put on Trott, he wore it in the furrow of his brow and the squareness of his jaw. Ross saw Trott more of a companion than a boss; he had a warmth to him that he couldn’t point his finger on. It was captivating and annoying at the same time.

“You can go right now if it’ll help.”

“Ross, we need to –“

“Trott, I think –“ Ross pointed to the empty dining area and swept his arms to the full oven. “I can handle it.” Trott finished the pretzel and paused – Ross could see the wheels turning in his eyes. He hip-checked the smaller man away from the table. “I got it Trott. Give em hell.” Trott smiled at the irony, and untied his apron. Ross was a good human, one Trott was thankful to have stumbled upon so early in his time here. Trott pulled his leather jacket off the coat tree and shrugged it on, bracing himself for the cold October air. The front door of his shop twinkled as he left and Trott marched to the damned shop across the street.


	5. Halloween Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott would have never guessed the best place to meet the people who will end up changing your life forever, was at the company Halloween Party.

Trott played with the frills of the skirt. He stood in the company bathroom, the ribbon wands stuffed into the straps of his leotard. He had the last messages memorized – one read “I’ll be Rambo” and the other said “you’ll know me when you see me”.

What had once started as memes on the conference room dry erase boards had grown to AIM messages until two in the morning. Now, it was the company Halloween party and Trott was about to meet the people he had come to know as DJ and Smiffy. Other than their aliases and humor, Trott knew next to nothing about them, and they knew about the same of him.

Trott took the ribbon wands in hand, took one last look at the pink leotard and his hair, and let the loud music overpower his nervousness. The office was dim, with cheap strobe lights and colored spotlights accenting the room. There was food, mock-tails, and a dance floor near the DJ booth. Almost everyone was here from his department, though people from every department showed up. He had always wondered if DJ and Smiffy were part of the data analysis team, but they could be from anywhere in the company. For all he knew, they could have been the CEO or the weekend custodian: a topic of daydreams for about a month now.

Trott was stopped by familiar faces, cooing and laughing over the tight sparkly pink fabric and frills. They mingled and laughed at each other’s costumes, but Trott’s attention was on the crowd around him. Smiffy would be easy to find, considering DJ’s ambiguous answer. He excused himself from his coworkers when it didn’t seem rude, and made his way to the food table. It was crowded, but Trott squeezed in and got himself a Moscow Mule mocktail before retreating to the side to look upon the crowd. There were a serious amount of Batmans and Cat Womans, with other pop culture references dominating over the mundane ones. Trott hoped the vibrant pink would help him stand out.

“Trout?” he heard over the music. He turned to his right, and was welcomed with a wide smile and a terrible wig. The man was taller than Trott and sported a well-shaped beard. The wig was dark and voluminous and it made Trott laugh.

“Smiffy?” he called back as they neared each other. The man laughed and nodded. “Nice hair.”

“Nice tutu.”

“Umm, actually it’s a leotard, thank you,” he retorted. Smiffy laughed and rolled his eyes. “It’s actually Trott, Chris Trott.”

“Alex Smith,” Rambo replied. He must have seen the look in Trott’s eyes and he laughed. “Yeah, I know, real average.” Smith took a drink from his pitcher and Trott did the same. It was birch beer and lime, and the carbonation tickled his tongue. “Have you seen DJ yet?”

“No, I have no idea what to look for.”

“Sneaky bastard.” Trott was surprised how easy it was to talk to Smith in person; Trott had always struggled with making friends due to his trust issues. But when Smith wrote on the board his AIM handle, Trott had gone home that night and made one on the spot. Once he added Smiffy, DJ’s request wasn’t far behind. And to think they were both in this room, and were real people who really enjoyed talking to him, made Trott happy.

There were loud shouts of laughter erupting from the other side of the party, and all Trott could see was light reflecting off a plastic sphere. Smith nodded towards the crowd and smiled back at Trott. They squeezed their way through the crowd, grabbing onto one another’s costumes to stay together. When they breached the inner-most wall of on-lookers, they looked at a man in a fluffy animal costume standing in the center of a bouncer ball, only a few inches from scraping the low ceiling. The man wore a blue bandana with paper letters spelling DJ hastily taped to it. Trott had to lean into Smith as he doubled over in laughter. DJ must have noticed them: he rolled the ball over to them, his face alight with delight. DJ looked around the ball, and once he found it, unplugged the air valve. He stepped out of the ball as it deflated and pulled Smith and Trott into a hug. Trott hugged the two back, and knew his life would never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wraps up #October17 fic week for me! I cannot wait to look back at the other creations from this week and bask it all of the awesomeness. Thank you Three for putting these together, and thanks to everyone for taking part and/or reading along!


End file.
